Past Present
by Whipper
Summary: Episode-tag to 'Cherrypoppers'. What did Dutch mean by "When I was a kid-"? Also features: Claudette and Vic.
1. Chapter One

_Disclaimers:_

The characters from the TV show 'the Shield' doesn't belong to me. Nor does the lyrics to 'Bad Moon Rising'. The proper owners would be Shawn Ryan/the FX and Creedence Clearwater Revival. 

_ Author's Notes: _

This story was written for Katt as a bribe to keep her writing on her own stories. Stories that you, by the way, should go read. She wanted to see angsty!Dutch, protective!Vic and motherhen!Claudette in an episode-tag to 'Cherrypoppers' and I was only happy to oblige. 

_ Warnings: _

The difficult subject of the day is **child abuse**. Nothing graphic, mostly just innuendoes actually. However there's a scene in Chapter Five I think sensitive people should be aware of. I should probably also put up warnings for foul language, references to sexual activities and well... a bunch of other grown up stuff. As it's pretty much just the same stuff that you'll find in the show, I'm assuming that if you're old enough to watch 'the Shield' then you're old enough to read this. 

Also I'd like to mention that while this story has been spell-checked and read through more than once before posting it has not been beta'd. Consider yourself cautioned. 

_ Summary of the episode 'Cherrypoppers':_

Detective Holland "Dutch" Wagenbach and his partner, Claudette Wyms, desperately tries to catch the killer of a child hooker (Sally). Dutch is convinced that they're dealing with a serial killer and spends most of the episode in his 'profiling mood'. In the meantime Vic Mackey and his team are doing their usual... uh, thing. They end up taking down a cherrypopper ring. 

(Cherrypoppers = porn dealing only with pre-teen's 'first time'.) 

While Dutch sits in on Vic's 'talk' with the ring-leader (a woman in bad make up), Vic forces her to watch the cherrypopper flick with Sally. Seeing the film really upsets Dutch and Vic ends up being very human about it. Later on, stressed out and still in the aftermath of his almost-break down, Dutch blows up at Danny Sofer. In his apology to her later on, Dutch hints at secrets in his own past... 

  
**PAST PRESENT,**  
written by Whipper 

** Chapter One.**

The next morning found him sitting at his desk with a headache that was half hang-over and half due to the stress he'd been through the day before. He kept his eyes firmly aimed at the file in front of him although, truth to be told, he probably couldn't even give a brief summary of it's content. The words were just dancing around on the page, randomly changing places with each other in some, undoubtedly very evil, conspiracy to drive him insane. 

He reached out blindly for his cup of coffee and took a large gulp of what turned out to be very foul liquid. The only option to spitting it all out over the open file was to swallow and he did so with a grimace that he was sure made what he already considered to be a less than pleasant face even uglier. A quick look around assured him that he'd been rather lucky though; no one had seen him. His shoulders sagged down and he released a small sigh of relief. 

_ Hey,_ he said to himself in a -- yes, admittedly rather sad -- attempt to cheer up, _at least Danny wasn't around to witness_ that. _Or Mackey for that matter. _

If this had been yesterday the entire squad would have seen you make your patented Panic Face over a cup of lousy coffee. More mocking material for Mackey and his goons and more reason for Danny to consider you a loser. (If that's really at all possible after last night.) 

And well, since none of things happened you might be lucky and today won't turn out to be a sucky sequel to yesterday's candidate for Worst Day In The Life Of Holland Wagenbach. 

"Dutch?" His partner's soothing voice dragged him back into the outside world. "Sleeping on the job again?" 

"Just recovering from this." He held up the cup for inspection while staring accusingly at the dark swill inside it. "Look at it carefully. It might just be the worst cup of coffee I've ever had." 

Claudette snorted in what was a very unlady-like gesture of either amusement or sympathy. His partner was, he thought to himself as he watched her sit down by her desk, not a very easy person to read. His mouth twitched into something that, on another day, he would have called a smile as he realized that if he -- a man who was, after all, making a living on his ability to read people correctly -- had problems with her then other people probably found her close to enigmatic. 

As the aforementioned enigma gave him a sharp look he forced himself to sit up properly and look down at the file in front of him again. It seemed to be mocking him with it's unreadable text and gross, much too-graphic photos. He highly doubted he'd have any better luck with getting it to make sense this time though so instead he chose to continue to ponder on the enigma that was Claudette Wyms. Admittedly the word 'enigma' wasn't the first one that came to mind when one thought of her but to him, today at least, it seemed fitting. 

_Of course, _a dark voice in the back of his head added derisively,_ the past days has quite effectively proven that you're apparently not quite as good at reading people as you like to think you are. So an 'enigma' for you probably equals a page out of a child's book of brain-teasers._

He tried to ignore the all too-familiar voice, knowing from experience that he was unable to argue with it. Even though it was just an echo from the past and not really a threat to him anymore there were just some lessons you learned too well. And this particular lesson (_"Don't talk back to me!"_) was one Dutch had learned the hard way and wasn't very likely to ever forget. 

A shudder ran through his body at the sudden onslaught of memories that the voice brought with it and he suddenly felt even more sick than before. He was just about to reach out for the bottle of Tylenol he kept in one of his desk-drawers just for days like these when a meaty hand suddenly grabbed on to his shoulder. 

The sudden physical contact in combination with the dark thoughts that occupied his mind was enough to surprise an unfortunately very unmanly yelp from him before he managed to shake off the intruding hand and turn around in, what was for him, a surprisingly fluid motion. A motion that brought him face to face with Vic Mackey. Who, admittedly, wasn't on the list of Dutch's favourite people but still a whole lot better than the alternative that his mind had suggested. 

Mackey had backed a few steps at Dutch's sudden and -- he realized that now -- rather unprovoked reaction and his hands were held up at shoulder-height while a small smirk played on the man's lips. Dutch frowned, feeling a little silly for over-reacting and very wary about being approached by the leader of the Strike Team. 

"What do you want now, Mackey?" 

The bald man looked around the room as if saying _"Will you believe this guy?"_ to the few people -- among them Claudette, Dutch realized with a small face -- who had, of course, noticed the way Dutch first had been startled by Mack's approach and then had followed it up with what probably seemed like rather unmerited hostility. 

"You better get laid soon, Dutch-boy," Mackey suggested in a voice loud enough to carry through the large room. "Cause you're getting to be waaay too tense." 

The small chuckles that followed from different directions made Dutch wish dully for the ground to open up and swallow him. Mackey's smirk vanished as soon as everyone's attention -- save Claudette's -- returned to their work though and he leaned forward slightly, a look of concern on his face. The look did nothing to calm Dutch though, who very much doubted the sincerity of it. 

"Nah, seriously though, Dutch," Mack continued in a much lower voice. "Yesterday was tough on all of us and I just wanted to make sure you were handling it." 

"I'm handling it." 

The reply was instantaneous and, in a way, even true. He was handling it. He just wasn't handling it very well. But that was hardly something that he wanted Mackey to know. The man already though of him as weak and... Dutch found himself searching for the right word. Whatever the correct antonym for equals was, he finally decided just as Mackey pulled back with a small frown on his face. 

"If you say so." The man's eyes were hidden by a pair of sun glasses -- the ones that Mackey always seemed to be wearing regardless of whether or not it was actually sunny outside -- but Dutch could still feel the intense blue eyes burning into him. "If you change your mind though and need someone to take a beer with, you know where to find us." 

The strong, meaty hand was back on his shoulder again, patting it almost affectionately before Mackey turned around and walked back to where the rest of the Strike Team were waiting impatiently for him. Dutch was left behind with sticky hands, an elevated heartbeat and the horrible feeling that he'd been played somehow. Surely the man couldn't have been serious? 

He gingerly rubbed the spot on his shoulder that Mackey had just touched -- some primal way to mark it as his own again, he supposed -- while Mackey, Vendrell and the rest of the Strike Team left the squad room laughing and exchanging mock blows. _As always acting more like a pack of wild animals than sensible human beings,_ he thought to himself even as a small part of him wondered what it would be like to have someone like Vic Mackey to watch your back. 

He quickly shook his head. People like Vic Mackey were bullies and people like himself -- people who more or less had the word Victim stamped on their forehead -- did well to not mix with bullies. 

_ Let's try not to hand away what little self-respect you have just because the most popular person at work just recognized the fact that you exist, okay,_ Holland?

"You all right, son?"

For the second time that morning Claudette's voice tugged him back to reality and he forced himself to offer her a tiny smile as thanks.

"Right as rain."

And it wasn't really lying, he thought as he made a third attempt to interpret the file in front of him. Partly because really, there was nothing even remotely right about rain. And secondly, this was life. His life. Nothing new about any of it. Nothing to complain about.

He wasn't quite sure who it was he was trying to convince.

***

"You coming?"

"Huh?"

Claudette looked down at him, her face a patient mask even though he could swear there was a glint of amusement in her dark eyes.

"Lunch. A meal most of us eat around noon once a day. It keeps us alive."

"I'm not really in the mood for eating."

His answer didn't do much to impress Claudette though, who with a frown on her face and hands resting on her hips looked like somebody's mother. Not his, though. His mother had never cared enough to keep track on his eating habits. Or anything else that had happened in their house for that matter.

"Not in the mood for eating?" Claudette echoed, a disbelieving note in her voice. "I didn't know eating required a mood, just an empty stomach and something edible."

She was probably right, but the fact remained that the thought of food didn't exactly appeal to a stomach that had been queasy ever since he'd woke up that morning. Looking down pointedly at the black and white photos spread all over his desk, he hoped that that would be enough of an answer. The pictures were all of her -- of Sally -- and having spent most of the morning staring at them was as good an excuse as any to skip lunch.

Claudette followed his glance but made no motion of having understood the unspoken explanation and after a few painfully long seconds Dutch realized that she wasn't about to either.

"This case is... uhm... it's-"

"Closed until you've had your lunch." 

Her voice suggested he would be very stupid to argue with her. Dutch could still feel his mouth opening slightly but it quickly snapped shut as she gave him her infamous glare.

"You can't allow cases to get too personal, son."

He stod up and nodded meekly, abandoning Sally on his desk as he followed his partner to the deli next door. All the while he wondered how the hell he was supposed to do that.

_Chapter Two will be up in a few days._


	2. Chapter Two

_ See Chapter One for disclaimer and story info. Dedicated to **Katt**._

**Chapter Two.**

Being able to stretch out his long legs in front of him and actually _feeling_ his headache lessen as he replenished his body's liquid storage made Dutch decide that he owed Claudette for making him take a break. Even though a nagging voice in his head kept telling him that he didn't have the time to sit around on his worthless ass doing nothing, another -- much more sensible -- part of him recognized the need to take a breather. 

Solving cases like these is all about perspective, he reminded himself. 

"Hah!" 

Looking up from his sandwich he met Claudette's eyes, noticing, but not understanding the reason for, her smug expression. Sitting up a bit straighter he looked around the small deli but saw nothing that was even close to 'hah!'-worthy. Just people ordering sandwiches and drinking surprisingly good coffee. 

"What?" he finally asked. 

"You were thinking that I was right," she stated without an ounce of hesitation and a satisfied look on her face. As he stared at her, looking, no doubt, as stupid as he felt, she added:"About the food. Possibly about the 'don't take cases too personal' comment as well. But you were definitely wearing your 'my partner was right... again' look." 

"I wasn't aware I had a 'my partner was right... again' look," he commented dryly. 

"You do." She took a large bite out of her sandwich and chewed it carefully before continuing; "And you didn't say I was wrong." 

"About me just thinking that you were right?" 

Claudette nodded. 

"No, I suppose I didn't." 

She grinned at him again, mischief in her eyes. That was a look he liked much better on her than the usual too-stern 'professional' face. 

And she'd been right. Hopefully not about him having a 'My partner was right again' look, but about the rest of it. Especially about how he needed to stop taking the case too personal. 

Of course, he realized that when Claudette had said 'personal' what she had meant was that he shouldn't take the cases to his heart. But he really couldn't see himself working on a case with a victim like Sally -- or any other abused child for that matter -- and not taking it to his heart. That was just not possible. 

What he could do though -- what he had to -- was to stop making it about him and his own sordid past. He couldn't afford scenes like when Mackey had startled him earlier. Or when he'd blown up at Danny the night before. He really couldn't afford to bury himself in what had happened so many year ago. He was over it, he told himself sternly. He had to be over it. 

He was just about to open his mouth to ask Claudette just when she'd learned to read him so expertly when, for the second time that day, a hand suddenly grabbed on to his shoulder. Claudette tensed up, obviously expecting him to react in the same way as he had earlier but he quickly masked his fear and turned around with a false smile on his lips. 

The smile quickly became more genuine though as he was met by Danny's beautiful eyes. He didn't think she'd be very eager to talk to him after the way he'd treated her the day before, but there she was. For once he didn't mind being proven wrong. 

"Hi, Danny! Uhm... are you here to eat?" He looked around to see if her partner was around as well. "I can recommend the ham and turkey. It's really good, although they could easily be a bit more generous with the mayo." 

He was so busy looking around for a free chair to bring over to their table that he almost missed her shaking her head. 

"No, me and Julian already ate. But I..." 

She looked down at the dirty linoleum floor for a few moments and when she raised her head again her eyes were so serious that Dutch could feel his heart sinking. Had he done something wrong? 

_Besides the way you treated her last night, moron?_

He bit his lip nervously as he waited for her to complete the sentence. 

"I need to talk to you," she finally said and then gave Claudette an apologetic look as she added: "Alone." 

*** 

"I hope your partner didn't take offense." 

"I'm sure she didn't." 

And he was rather sure Claudette wasn't. Curious? Yes, probably. But hardly offended. She believed too much in herself to be so easily hurt. That was yet another difference between him and his partner. 

He sneaked a look at Danny. Just like him she seemed to be unsure of what to say. The way she held her uniform-clad body -- head down to avoid eye contact, arms folded over her chest to create a barrier between the two of them and the way she kept shifting her weight from one foot to another -- told him quite clearly that he wasn't going to like whatever it was she was about to tell him. 

_ Look what you've done now, _he berated himself angrily. _You've really fucked it up this time. She can't even look at you! You should have known that the excuse last night wouldn't do the trick. Stupid!_

As she bit down on her lower lip he decided enough was enough; if for no other reason than the fact that his stomach couldn't take much more of his mind's constant speculation as to what was going on. 

"So... what was it you wanted to talk about?" 

"It's... about last night. About what happened." 

"Uhm, yeah." He rubbed his neck, more because of the overwhelming need to do something than anything else. "As I said before, I'm really sorry about the way I acted. I know I was an ass and... if there's anything I can do to make it up to you, I will." 

For a few moments she looked confused, as if she didn't know what he was talking about. Then her eyes became more focused and she shook her head quickly, a few strands of blond hair escaping the firm knot on the back of her head. 

"No. No, Dutch. Not about _that_. I said it was okay, remember?" 

She smiled at him brightly and at the same time as he felt relieved that she wasn't upset about 'that', he couldn't help but wonder what else could have happened that she needed to talk to him about. 

"I'm afraid I don't understand," he finally said, after yet another too-long silence. "If it's not about that, then what...?" 

"It's about what you told me." She looked at him, her face suddenly very somber and there was a look in her eyes that he found himself not liking very much at all. "On my porch." 

She stopped there, as if she thought that should be explanation enough, but he really couldn't see where she was heading. He'd been really worn out the night before and a bit... not drunk exactly, but not entirely sober either. It had taken a lot to go to her house and he'd actually stopped for a drink before driving there. (And didn't he despise himself for stooping so low as to resort to liquid courage!) But as far as he could remember he hadn't given voice to anything besides a very lengthy, rather bad version of 'I'm sorry'. 

He frowned, hesitant about what to say next. 

"Uhm..." 

"You tried to tell me something but I..." She looked just as uncomfortable as he felt. A rather amazing feat when he came to think about it. "I don't blame you if you don't want to talk to me about it again. I mean, I didn't handle it very well when you tried to tell me last night and... I'm sorry about that. But if you ever want to talk about it with someone, I just want you to know that I'm here for you." 

She rushed out the last part as if she'd been rehearsing them for hours and that look in her eyes... He recognized so well but couldn't quite put a name on yet. Forcing his confusion into the back of his mind he tried to remember what he'd said the night before. That was the clue to figuring out what this was all about, he was sure of it. 

_ "What I said to you... was inexcusable." _He remembered himself saying. Then: _"This case... was very important to me. When I was a kid-"_

The look in her eyes, he thought numbly, the one he hadn't been able to put a name on earlier, had been pity. 

Then the realization of what it -- the forced conversation, the look in her eyes, everything -- meant hit him like a fist to his stomach and for a moment he was sure he was going to lose it. For a moment he even thought that perhaps he had. 

Words from the past echoed in his mind. _"Don't you ever dare to tell anyone!"_ And then:_ "You don't talk to other people about what's going on in our home, son!"_ Those were both lessons well-learned and Dutch felt a wave of sickening guilt wash over him at what he had done. 

Danny knew. No matter what he did or said, she knew. She would always know. He opened her mouth to tell her to _please, forget_ but no words came out of his mouth. Which was just as well, because he then realized that he couldn't admit to it. He just couldn't. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he did. 

"I don't know what you think I was trying to tell you," he said, surprised to find himself able to speak again, "but I was... just talking, okay? Trying to get you to forgive me for blowing up at you for no good reason." 

The look on Danny's face made him aware that the convincing smile he'd aimed for had probably ended up looking more like a pained grimace. 

"Listen, Dutch, I'm sorry if I didn't handle it very well but I just didn't know what to say. I know it's no excuse, I'm a police officer and I see shit like that everyday so I shouldn't have let it surprise me, I know. But... you don't expect your friends to-" 

"You didn't do anything wrong, Danny." The pain in her eyes almost undid him and he had to take a deep breath. "I really wasn't trying to tell you anything so... uhm... don't feel bad about this, okay?" 

He wasn't even aware that he had been shying away from her until he almost tumbled over a broken bottle. Danny took a few steps closer to, he thought, grab his arm. Stop him from leaving. But he didn't want her to touch him. Couldn't let her. Or anyone else for that matter. 

"I'm sorry, Danny, but I have to go. Now. I'll... talk to you later." 

Three blocks later he realized that a) she wasn't following him, b) he'd just abandoned Claudette in that deli and c) Danny knew. Somebody knew. The world seemed to be spinning around him and he was vaguely aware that people was pointing at him, disgust on their faces, as he reached out for the wall to keep from falling. 

The ham and turkey sandwich had tasted much better going down that it had coming up. 


	3. Chapter Three

_See Chapter One for disclaimer and story info. Dedicated to **Katt.** (Read her story 'Video' for more post-Cherrypoppers angst. It's a brilliant story that I can't recommend enough!)_

**Chapter Three.**

Claudette were keeping her arms crossed over her chest and her dark eyes were burning twin holes in the side of his head. She was obviously not happy, in the way people were 'not happy' about having their houses burned down or their pets run over by cars. He made a mental note to be careful around her. 

He made the same note about Danny, although for a quite a different reason. She didn't look angry but instead sad and upset. And perhaps -- if he was reading her right -- a little bit guilty. 

With a small sigh Vic pushed himself up and out off the couch where he'd been enjoying a small break. The rest of his team were sitting around the table, playing cards and had, before Claudette and Danny's arrival, been bickering quietly enough for him to actually be able to get some much needed and well deserved shut-eye. Glancing over at them he was pleased to see that the cards were now on the table and that they were all sitting there attentive and ready to do what he told them to. 

He smiled slightly, feeling proud of his 'boys'. 

"Let me see if I've got this straight," he drawled as he walked up to the two women. "Claudette was having lunch with Dutch-boy when Danny came in to have a private little chat with him. What you said upset him and now he's gone missing. That about sum it all up?" 

"Yes." 

Claudette's eyes hadn't grown any warmer while he talked and her answer had been acerbic, at best. It was obvious that she was worried about her partner. Not that he was very surprised by that. Cops were always protective of their partners. 

What had taken him by surprise though was how much Danny seemed to care. She was fretting in a way that was really uncharacteristic for her, which, in a way, was odd enough. But that her concern was for _Dutch_? Last time he'd checked the guy had been nothing more than an annoying inconvenience in her life. 

"So, Danny..." As soon as he got eye contact with her, he continued: "What did you tell Dutch-boy to make him run away like that?" 

Without even looking he could tell that the boys were about to make several suggestions, all rude and very likely to push Claudette over the edge. While a stern look over his shoulder made them shut up, it didn't stop the lewd grins and he almost shuddered at the hard look Claudette shot them. 

"He... uh..." 

Danny looked around the room desperately, apparently having hoped that Vic wouldn't ask her about that. 

"You know Dutch," Danny finally said with a small blush. "Always following me around and stuff. I told him it was making me uncomfortable. I guess I must have... hurt his feelings or something." 

Behind him his boys stared to laugh like maniacs while Claudette's eyes lost some of the anger and instead took on a look of sadness. Vic took both the news and those reactions without blinking. What throw him was the way Danny was behaving. If he didn't know better he'd say she was lying... 

But what about? 

"So," Claudette finally said, her sharp voice enough to stop the boy's laughter. "Will you help us find him before the Captain finds out he's missing?" 

"We'll find him for you," Vic promised without even thinking it over twice. 

_ If for no other reason, _he continued silently, _than to find out just what it is that Danny's hiding._

*** 

_ I see a bad moon rising  
I see trouble on the way_

Vic looked around the smoky bar, very much doubting that he'd find the prissy Detective in such a 'questionable establishment'. He still skimmed through the crowd, quite willing to be proven wrong. Too fat; right in size but very wrong outfit; wrong gender; too short; too blonde; right outfit but much too black... 

He shook his head, annoyed by the stupid mission that Danny and Claudette had sent him and his team on. Or well, technically, they had asked him and he'd accepted. But still, it wasn't as if he'd really had a choice. He owed both of them and even if he hadn't he wasn't about to complicate his life by pissing off two armed women on the same day. 

_ Don't go round tonight  
It's bound to take your life  
There's a bad moon on the rise_

Just about to give up and head back out on the street a motion in the darkest corner of the club caught his attention. Narrowing his eyes and -- very discreetly -- putting most of his weight on his toes to gain a little bit of height he tried to get a better look at the man. Caucasian male, brown hair, wearing an ugly suit. So far it sounded like a good description of Dutch. He'd had to get a bit closer before he could make a positive ID though. 

Pushing forward non too-gently through the crowd he made his way to the table in the back where, he noticed as he came closer, an obviously very drunk and very shaky looking Dutch was sitting. A bottle of extremely cheap whiskey was standing next to him and Vic frowned darkly as he realized that it was half-empty. 

"Drinking while on duty, Dutch?" he growled angrily, prepared to drag the man up by his lapels and shake some sense into him. (God knew he had enough experience doing that with his own men.) 

But then Dutch looked up from his glass and the look in and the state of Dutch's eyes stopped him. It was embarrassingly obvious that the younger man had been crying -- either that or he was really allergic to cheap booze -- and there was an emptiness in the brown eyes that stirred Vic's concern. 

He'd never been much for all that crap about the eyes being the windows of the soul but he'd still always acknowledged that there was something in the eyes of people who'd just experienced something really, really bad. You could see that there was something missing in that person, either just temporary misplaced or, in some cases, permanently ripped out and destroyed. 

Dutch's eyes looked like that. Empty. 

Vic sighed heavily as he dragged a hand over the smooth skin of his head. He absentmindedly made a note that he needed a haircut as he tried to come up with a plan for how to handle the situation. Dutch just looked at him blankly, mouth hanging half-open and dull eyes that Vic was unwilling to meet again. It was but too obvious that the drunk man wasn't going to be much help in coming up with a solution. 

"Stay," he finally ordered his colleague in his best 'don't mess with me' voice. 

It was completely wasted though because Dutch just continued to look at him with that stupid, _'no comprende'_ look on his face and Vic found himself fighting the urge to just smack the man. Instead he forced himself to squat down so that he came face to face with Dutch -- making a face as he got a sniff of the other man's breath -- and then continued by speaking in the slow, patient voice he usually spared for times when he had to explain things to his son. 

"You need to stay here for a little while, okay, Dutch? I have to make a phone call and I have to do it outside because it's too loud in here. Do you understand?" 

Dutch made a sound that might have been a garbled 'yes' but could just as well have been a comment on the waitress' drool-worthy physique. With a small growl the older man decided that it had better had been a 'yes' because if he came back and Dutch were missing he was really going to lose his temper. 

And, as he was so fond of pointing out to the perps, that was never a good thing. 

*** __

"C'mon, Vic! Why can't you just put him in a cab and send him home?" 

The voice on the other end of the phone was distinctly whiny. Not at all unlike that of his children when they were over-tired or wanted something badly enough to risk 'time out'. Vic scowled at his cell phone, thinking that while he'd never touch his own children the person on the other end of the phone, non other than, of course, his partner Shane, wasn't totally undeserving of a spanking. 

The mental picture cheered him up a bit and made it possible for him to keep at least most of his irritation out of his voice. 

"Because he's still on duty," he explained. "We put him in a cab and something happens the Captain and the rest of big wigs are going to find out 'bout him going all AWOL and getting himself pissed when he should have been out there catching bad guys like the rest of us. He could get fired." 

_ "And we care because...?" _

Vic wasn't sure if his partner had meant for him to hear that last part but decided to act as if it had been spoken out loud instead of just muttered quietly under Shane's breath. 

"Because no matter whether we like him or not, he's one of us. And besides... both Claudette and Danny have put themselves on the line covering for his ass." 

_ "Maaan,_" Shane continued to complain, "_what if he pukes in my car?_" 

"Then we'll ask him all friendly like to clean it up tomorrow morning," Vic snapped, finally loosing his patience. "Just get your ass -- and your car -- over here. We'll be waiting inside where no one can see us so when you get here just stick your ugly face through the door and we'll be right out. Okay?" 

_ "Yes, sir."_

Snapping his cell phone shut Vic went back into the bar, both happy and relieved that Dutch was still sitting at the table in the back. Less happy though when he saw the man raise yet another glass to his lips. Cursing wildly he closed the distance between them and yanked the glass from Dutch's fingers. 

"No. More. Drinking." He barked. Then added, almost as an afterthought. "Asshole." 

And with that he sat down next to the man, angrily staring out over the crowd as he and Dutch silently waited for Shane to show up. 


	4. Chapter Four

_See Chapter One for story info and disclaimer. This story is dedicated to **Katt**._

**Chapter Four.**

"Bills, advertisements, more bills and... hey, what do you know! Even more bills." Vic snorted as he threw the mail back on the table where he'd found it. "Even your mail is boring, Dutch." 

Dutch's whole apartment was a bit of a disappointment really. Dull was too nice a word. No 'crazy profiler' work space or articles about serial murders nailed to the walls. Just a normal apartment; two rooms and a small kitchen with ugly wallpaper and cheap-looking furniture. 

The only thing that suggested that Dutch actually lived there was the large collection of books. The bookshelf -- just as impressive as Vic had predicted it would be -- was standing against one of the walls and there had to be several hundreds of books. It figured, Vic though. People like Dutch who relied more on the experience of others than than that of their own always owned tons of book. 

A quick peek showed that the bookshelf held thick volumes with impossibly small print and pretentious names like 'The Collected Work Of...' as well as equally thick books about profiling, human behaviour, victimology, etc. and -- Vic rolled his eyes and mouthed '_Jesus fucking Christ_' as he found them -- also several detective stories. If Dutch had any porn he kept it well-hidden. Or perhaps, Vic thought cruelly, the man just jerked off while reading Sherlock Holmes or -- he squinted as he read the title -- the 'Encyclopaedia of the Enlightenment'. 

"You still alive in there, Dutch?" he called out in the direction of the bathroom as he went over to the writing desk and picked up the open notepad. 

Flipping through the pages proved it to be nothing more interesting than notes from the Sally case, all written in Dutch's only half-legible handwriting. No little hearts with Danny's initials written in them though, he noted to himself. Maybe there was still hope for Dutch-boy. 

Realizing that he hadn't heard any response to his earlier call he put down the notebook and went over to the bathroom where he'd left Dutch just a few minutes earlier. As his knocking on the door went unanswered as well he toed it open and peeked in, hoping rather desperately that he'd just find Dutch feeling too embarrassed and miserable to talk rather than in any real need of help. 

Luck wasn't on his side though as his colleague turned out to be sprawled out on the bathroom floor, either asleep or passed out. Putting together a string of curses that would have left most of the perps he arrested blushing, Vic hurried over to and knelt down by the still form. 

"Hey, Dutch!" He gave the man's slack face a few, slightly more rough than necessary, slaps. "Dutch! Dutch-boy, c'mon. Wake up!" 

Eyelids fluttering slightly and a slight moan was his only answer and he cursed angrily. Why did shit like this always have to happen to him? Couldn't he just _please_ get to experience one single fucking day when he didn't have to take care of somebody else's mess? 

"Don't you fucking dare to be suffering from alcohol poisoning," he growled as he ran his hands over the other man's head to make sure he hadn't hit his head on his way down. "Don't you dare do that to me." 

Not finding any bumps or other evidence of an injury he gently rolled Dutch over on his side, guiding the long legs so that they pressed up against his chest. No way he was going to end up having to explain to Danny and Claudette that Dutch had drowned in his own puke while under Vic's care. 

Dutch's eyes remained closed but he was obviously beginning to wake up. His hands weakly tried to bat away Vic's and he kept muttering 'stop' in an only half-audible voice. 

"Stupid fucker," Vic muttered angrily to the only half-conscious man as he proceeded to loosen the tie and undo the first buttons on Dutch's shirt. "Sure, Danny's nice but c'mon.... we're not teenagers, okay? No need to drink ourselves into a stupor over a broken heart. Especially not while still on duty." 

Not very surprisingly Dutch wasn't able to provide much in the way of an answer so Vic had the pleasure of continuing uninterrupted. 

"You know, your partner isn't gonna be very happy about this. Oh, no, sir. I'd give a lot to be a fly on the wall when she gives you a piece of her mind about this stupid ass stunt you just pulled. And don't think I won't tell her either! Whatever she gives, you're gonna deserve. In fact, if I wasn't so damn sure Claudette would take care of it, I'd do it myself. God knows I've kicked Shane's ass enough times for the shit he's pulled." 

He smiled humorlessly, hearing Shane's trademark _'What? I didn't do anything, Vic! I swear I didn't!_' in the back of his head as he wet a bath towel and wiped the sweat and vomit off Dutch's face. His gesture ended up more gentle than he would have liked it to be though and he froze angrily, asking himself -- not for the first time -- why he didn't just call Claudette and left her to take care of her thick-headed partner. 

Throwing the towel into a corner of the bathroom he decided that that was just what he was going to do. As soon as she got off her shift anyway. She would have to cover for Dutch-boy another hour or two. Until then he'd better stay just where he were. 

"Fuck!" He glared accusingly at the unmoving man on the floor. "You're gonna owe me big time for this!" 

He stormed out of the bathroom just to return a few seconds later as he realized that leaving Dutch unsupervised while half-unconscious on the cold floor probably wasn't the best of moves. But damn if he was going to spend a minute longer stuck in Dutch's unnaturally neat bathroom. 

*** 

_"Wyms."_

"Vic here. We've found your partner." 

There was a short pause, then a muttered _'Thank you, God'_ that he was positive he shouldn't have heard and hence didn't reply to. He had no problems understanding how worried she had been. After all, it didn't take a lot of imagination to figure out justhow he'd feel if Shane had gone missing. Even though his partner usually was quite a shithead he was still Vic's shithead. 

_"Thanks, Vic."_ Claudette's voice was almost-steady as she spoke again. _"I'll owe you for this one. And so will Dutch. When will you be back to the station? I really want to have a word with that errant partner of mine." _

Vic had eaten popsicles with less ice in them than her voice and he felt a pang of pity for Dutch. But then he remembered just who it was who was going to have to take care of Claudette's 'errant partner' and he immidiately wished all Wym's ire on Wagenbach. 

"I'm sorry, Claudette, but Dutch won't be able to come in today." 

_ "He won't... what?"_ From worry to relief to anger and the back to worry again. Vic made a small face. Poor woman. _"Did something happen to him? Did he get hurt? Did... I swear to God, Vic, if you and your boys didn't anything to my partner I'll-"_

"Whoa! We didn't do anything to him. Besides saving his sorry ass from getting fired." Vic paused for a few second before continuing. "We found him in a bar, okay? He was just a sip or two away from a trip to the ER and a tube down his throat." 

_ "Oh, my God, Dutch. Just how stupid can you..."_ She trailed off, probably realizing that she was still speaking to Vic. _"I'm sorry about what I said, Vic. I shouldn't have accused you of hurting him. Not when... I'm sorry. Are you still at that bar? Just give me the name and I'll come pick him up."_

"We're at his place. Shane gave us a ride. And you're not going anywhere, okay? I'm gonna stay here and watch him until you get off your pass." 

_ "What? No, Vic. You've done enough. More than enough. Dutch is my partner. I'll take it from here." _

"Believe me, nothing would make me happier than to agree with you. Baby-sitting is far from my favorite passtime. But you need to keep covering for him until the end of your shift, okay?" 

_ "But-" _

"I'll take good care of him." Vic snorted loud enough for her to hear. "I won't like it. But I'm not the kind of guy that lets a fellow cop down either." 

Claudette was silent for a long, long time and Vic was just about to open his mouth and say something -- anything -- to convince her when she finally answered. 

_ "I know you're not."_ Her voice was much too silent and it took on a dangerous edge as she continued. _"And I know that if you tell me that you're going to take good care of my partner, you'll take good care of my partner."_

"You got that right," Vic agreed. 

_"I don't know what is happening here, Vic,"_ she said, surprising him by the raw honesty in her voice. _"But I don't like it. This isn't like Dutch. It isn't like him at all." _

He had to agree with her on that. Dutch was stuck with an anal retentive personality --Vic shuddered as he realized that he was using one of Dutch's psycho babble phrases -- and a by-the-book cop. Getting drunk while on duty didn't fit either of those descriptions. 

"You'll make him tell you," he promised her gently. The added, with a small grin on his lips: "And after you've fixed whatever's wrong with Dutch-boy I'm thinking you should put him over your knee and spank his bony ass." 

And with that he hang up. 


	5. Chapter Five

_See Chapter One for story info and disclaimer. This story is dedicated to **Katt**. Warning: This is the part where the child abuse (sexual) I warned you about in chapter one becomes graphic. No gory details, but still... sensitive readers be aware._

**Chapter Five.**

_ Curled up in his bed the little boy engaged in a routine that was as old as his memory stretched. A routine that he -- against better judgement -- hoped would somehow make him invisible under the heavy blankets. He was still young enough to believe that if he just made himself small enough, if he squeezed his eyes shut hard enough, held his breath long enough he would some night just disappear from his room and wake up somewhere else. Somewhere safe. _

A sound outside his room made his eyes flash open and he stared at the light that shone through from underneath the door. He felt not very unlike a small animal staring at the headlights of an approaching car. Knowing that something bad was going to happen, yet unable to stop it. That was worse than anything. Including being toilet-papered by the older kids at school and having your kitten disappear mysteriously after it had peed on your father's shoes. 

He wasn't quite sure how much time had passed -- wasn't really old enough to have a good understanding of time yet -- but when he finally felt able to relax slightly his lungs were aching from lack of air and all his muscles felt weak and trembly. More than anything else he wanted to sleep but he couldn't. Not yet. Not while he could still hear his parents outside. 

Not while his father was still awake. 

Closing his eyes again he tried to remember the words his teacher had given them to learn as homework until Friday. Some of them he already knew how to spell but a few had been really tricky. He looked longingly at his schoolbag but didn't dare to get out of bed to fetch his book. Not that he would have been able to read in the darkness anyway. 

It had been easier before when he'd been allowed to keep the door open a crack. The light that had came in from the hallway had been just enough for him to be able to read in. But a few months ago he'd been sloppy and his father had found a book hidden under the pillow. 

Since then the door to his bedroom had been firmly shut during the nights. Except for, of course, when- 

A squeaking sound, quickly identified by the little boy as the door to his parent's bedroom, kept him from finishing that thought. He tensed up and prayed desperately to God to let that be all for tonight. To let his mom and dad go to bed quietly and please God stay there. He'd be a good boy, he'd do his homework and follow the rules and he'd never... 

"Holland?" A hoarse whisper from outside the door stopped the quiet praying. "Are you awake?" 

Eyes squeezed shut. He didn't breath. Didn't move. Didn't even think. But his father still saw him. His father still opened the door to the bedroom and walked up to his bed while breathing heavily as if he'd just missed the schoolbus and had been forced to run after it. 

Even without looking the little boy knew exactly what was happening. Every sound -- the faint sound of metal scraping against metal as his father removed his belt, the rustle of his clothes as they fell to the floor, the protesting noise his bed made as the heavy man sat down by his side -- had been forever imprinted into his mind years ago. 

"Holland?" 

And he was robbed of the protection of the heavy blankets. Robbed of the protection of his pyjama bottoms. And robbed of the protection of feigning sleep as strong, warm hands shook him ruthlessly. 

"Time to wake up." 

*** 

Vic was restless. Stalking around angrily wasn't enough to release his pent-up frustration and there was really nothing he could find in the apartment to distract himself fully with. The books were all boring and besides, reading always gave him a head-ache. There were nothing interesting in the mail, there was nothing edible in the kitchen although it was obvious that Dutch liked to cook -- he'd never seen a single man with so much cooking utensils -- and there were no embarrassing messages left on the answering machine. 

He was tempted to get out, just for a minute or two to get some fresh air, but he didn't dare to leave Dutch unattended. It just took a few minutes for a man to drown in his own puke and there was still a risk that Dutch had really had too much to drink. Vic had seen more people than he cared to count die of alcohol poisoning and didn't care to add the name of a fellow police officer to the list. 

He had just pulled out Guiness Book of World Records to check out the "Human Body" section when he finally picked up on a strange sound coming from the bedroom. 

"Yo, Dutch! You awake in there?" 

When his only answer was another muffled moan Vic quickly put down the book and hurried over to the door to the bedroom. Dutch was still on the bed and still out but that was pretty much the only thing that had remained the same since he'd last checked on the man only a few minutes earlier. 

When he'd left the room Dutch had been arranged in the recovery position, pillows piled up behind his back just in case he'd tip over. He'd also been still and unresponsive. 

Now however he had somehow managed to kick away the pillows, rolled over on his back and get pretty much stuck in the blankets. It would have been a rather hilarious picture, Vic thought, if it hadn't been so apparent that Dutch was caught up in what was either a mild seizure or one hell of a nightmare. 

A seizure would mean having to call for an ambulance. A phone call that would mark the end of Dutch's career as a police officer. And put a permanent stain on Claudette's and Danny's records. 

Getting closer to the bed he quickly decided that it was the later and let out a lungful of air in an explosive sigh. Nightmares he could deal with. Nightmares were nothing compared to headlines like 'Detective drinks himself into stupor while on duty.' 

"Time to wake up, Dutch," Vic muttered as he climbed on to the bed and reached out to grab onto the man's arms to wake him. 

*** 

_ Strong hands held him down, restrained him even though it wasn't really necessary. Not anymore. He'd learned to keep still and don't fight back. _

*** 

Dutch was surprisingly strong for a lanky guy wearing suits all the time, Vic noticed with a grimace as he fought to keep the man on top of the bed. Usually when trying to keep someone down he'd just grab onto a limb and apply enough pressure to make them seriously re-think trying to move without permissionn. But something told him that in the state that Dutch was currently in the man didn't have enough awareness to stop moving. 

"For God's sake," he cursed as Dutch scratched the back of his hand, "be still!" 

*** 

_ His father's body tensed before he growled out his pleasure and fell over him, the weight of a full man much too heavy for the small boy. _

*** 

Dutch suddenly stopped moving all together and the only thing that stopped Vic from reaching out to make sure that the man still had a pulse was the fact that he could feel Dutch's chest rise and fall underneath him. 

*** 

_ "That's my good boy," his father whispered as he finally rolled off him and instead just laid panting beside him. _

While his father was unusually talkative during his late night visits, the little boy never said a word. The only sounds that ever escaped his firmly pressed together lips were involuntary whimpers and the occasional sob. 

Inside of him a thousand voices joined together in a loud wail, screaming no so loudly that he sometimes thought his head would explode. In his mind he begged his father to stop. In his mind he fought back. 

In the real world he just laid limply in his father's perverted embrace. 

*** 

Just as suddenly as Dutch had stopped moving he began twisting again, almost throwing Vic off him in the process. Cursing angrily he grabbed on to the man again, swearing to himself that the trio responsible for putting him in this situation -- Danny, Claudette and Dutch -- was going to buy him, his team, his family and his fucking neighboors a three course meal for this. 

*** 

_ Curled up in his bed the little boy engaged in a routine that was as old as his memory stretched. A routine that he -- against better judgement -- hoped would somehow make him invisible under the heavy blankets. _

*** 

"No, not again," Dutch suddenly whimpered. "Please. Stop. Don't touch me. Please. Don't, dad." 

As soon as the last word registered Vic let go of Dutch's arms and pulled back. A thousand thoughts -- none of them pleasant -- raced through his mind as he stared down at the agitated man on the bed, a mix of shock and concern on his face. As soon as Dutch realized that he was free the man curled up tightly, the tall, lanky body suddenly nothing more than a small huddle on the bed. 

It didn't take Vic more than a few seconds to put two and two together, no matter how little he liked the answer he ended up with. Although the details were less than clear -- _Yeah, sure it's unclear. Yesterday the man handled a bad case where a young girl was raped and today he gets himself drunk and when you get into bed to help him he cries out for his daddy to stop touching him. If that's unclear then I'm a crossdressing pig! _-- it was obvious that whatever was wrong with Dutch, it didn't really have anything to do with Danny. 

So why had she lied to him? 

Frowning darkly he pulled out his cell phone. 


	6. Chapter Six

_See chapter One for disclaimers and story info._

**Chapter Six.**

"Yeah, I understand." Vic sighed heavily. "Thanks for telling me this, Danny."

"_I-I... Just don't make me regret telling you."_

"I won't. Trust me."

Vic tried to rub away the pounding in his head as he disconnected, but something told him that the headache was there to stay. At least until he had figured out a good way to deal with everything that had happened. And since there was no good way to deal with it...

Releasing another heavy sigh he flicked on his cell phone again and dialed a new number. Waiting for Corrine to pick up he went through his conversation with Danny in his mind. It had turned out he had been right earlier. She _had_ been lying about what had happened between her and Dutch. Although considering the situation he couldn't find it in himself to be upset about it.

In fact, he felt bad for her, knowing that she felt more than a little responsible for what was happening to Dutch. But, as he'd made sure to tell her, it wasn't her fault. The only option to confronting Dutch had been to ignore what he'd told her and she couldn't have done that. Not as a friend. And certainly not as a cop.

No, she had done the right thing. He was sure of that. Although, he thought while giving his temples another one-handed rub, she hadn't necessarily picked the right time or place for it.

"_Hello?"_

"Hi, baby." 

"_Vic?_"

"I'd sure hope so," he answered, a small smile playing on his lips. "I'd be very unhappy if other men phoned my wife, calling her 'baby'. How are the kids doing?"

"_Well... Matthew was having a bit of a problem with his homework_."

The background noise told Vic that his wife had been watching the TV. He felt a pang of guilt for disturbing her, knowing quite well that Corrine only got a few moments of free time every day. But he really needed to hear her voice, he told himself. And it was only for a few moments.

"_His sister helped him out though_," Corrine continued on the other end of the phone. _"She's being a real angel_." 

His wife's familiar voice was soothing and he felt a bit calmer with the knowledge that Corrine and the children were fine. They were protected, out of harm's way. Nobody was going to hurt them like Dutch had been hurt. Nothing bad was ever going to happen to them. He'd make sure of that.

"Tell her that her daddy is proud of her."

"_I will._"There were a few moments of silence before Corrine continued, concern obvious in her voice. "_Is something wrong, Vic?_"

"Nah... I just needed to hear your voice."

"_A though case?_" 

Corrine's voice was even softer now and Vic felt a pang of gratitude. He was usually rather good at not taking his work back home with him but occasionally a case would leave him with the feeling that what he was doing -- what he was trying so damn hard to do -- was all for nothing. Those were the times he called home just to make sure that there was something good left in his world.

"Yeah. But it's going to be okay."

"_Do you want to talk about it?" _The TV-noise in the background stopped abruptly. _"I could put on a movie for the kids. They're pretty much done with their homework anyway."_

"Just hearing your voice is good enough. But, thanks."

"_Okay. Remember I love you, okay? And the kids love you too._"

In the background he could faintly hear Cassy's voice, stating that she loved him very much and could he_ please_ buy ice-cream on his way home. Vic smiled a bit, making a mental note to do just that.

"Love you too, baby. And the kids. Give Cassy a big hug from me."

"_See you tonight then."_

"Yeah, bye."

As she hung up Vic realized that, although his headache had lessened slightly during the conversation with Corrine, he should probably still take an aspirin or two as a preventive measure. After all, he thought with a dark frown, as hard as it was to believe he still had the worst part of the day ahead of him.

Heading over to Dutch's bathroom Vic wondered what his next step should be. _Fuck,_ he cursed silently. _Why did I have to get involved in this?_ He knew himself well enough to know that he wouldn't be able to just wash his hands of the situation. Corrine always told him he was a control freak and part of him knew she was right. Ever since he'd been a child he had wanted to fix things that was broken, make them go back to the way they should be.

Only with cases like Dutch's you couldn't fix things. You couldn't go back some twenty year back in time and make things right. It was too late for that. All you could try for was damage control.

He stared at himself in the mirror, seeing but not really taking notice of the scowl on his face. Turning on the water faucet with one hand he pulled open the medicine cabinet with the other. Rummaging through the shelves he found a handful of prescription bottles as well as some over-the-counter painkillers.

As he reached out for for the Tylenol Extra Strength Geltabs -- smirking a little at the thought of Dutch refusing to take usual tablets -- he spotted the name of one of the prescription bottles. Ambian. He recognized the name as that of a sleeping pill, not very strong but you still needed to a doctor's prescription for them. A stray thought_ -- 'Maybe I should pocket those until I've talked to Dutch?' -- _suddenly made him fully realize the seriousness of the situation.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "What the _hell_ am I supposed to do?"

_Damage control,_ his mind reminded him. _Damage control. That's all you can do._

But how? He obviously needed to talk to Dutch. Not that he felt that he needed to confirm his suspicions, but more as a way to see what Dutch wanted to do_. You mean to find out if you need to take away his gun before you leave for the night,_ a cynical voice added from the back of his head.

Vic rubbed his hand over his face with a sigh.

God, he couldn't believe that this was happening. He couldn't believe that Dutch -- of all people! -- had been hurt that way as a kid. The man had worked as a cop for years; how come nobody had ever picked up on it? Surely there had to have been signs?

A memory of Dutch's pale face and erratic breathing as Vic had talked to him after they'd seen that cherrypopper movie with Sally suddenly flashed through Vic's mind. The hard look in Dutch's eyes and the determined set on his face as he approved of doing things Vic's way when the man who'd raped that little girl was caught.

So, of course there had been signs. Only, just like him, everybody had chose not to see or take notice of them. Male victims of sexual assaults were too rare to be easily acknowledged. Vic knew that, had been told as much by some tiny woman with too much make-up at a mandatory police work-shop.

He suddenly found himself wishing that he'd been listening more carefully instead of spending the day half-asleep in the back of the room. In fact he'd trade half of his private porn-collection for one of those pink pamphlets on how to approach adult survivors of child abuse that had been passed out to the attending officers.

He'd folded his into a paper airplane, he remembered with a flash of remorse. Sent it flying into the trash can. Then left for beers with his buddies. 

_Yep, you're an asshole. But we already knew that. _His subconscious told him without any sympathy. _The questions is, now what? It's not like you can head over to the library and-_

Closing the medicine cabinet with a loud _bang _Vic hurried out into the living room and Dutch's large bookshelf. As he'd noticed earlier all the books were first categorized after subject and then alphabetized. At the time he'd first saw it he'd lost the battle to keep from laughing, lost in the realization of just how desperately Dutch really needed a life. Now -- as he found a shelf dedicated to survivors of childhood abuse -- he took back every snort of laughter.

Grabbing a book that looked reasonably easy to read he threw it onto the couch, then went back to the bathroom for the Tylenols he'd forgotten. If he was going to read a book then he was _definitely_ going to need them.

And then he was going to have to call Claudette and explain to her why she couldn't come to see Dutch after her shift ended. Maybe he could make Danny talk to her? Come up with some bullshit story about how she wanted to go see him herself to tell him that things were okay between the two of them or something. Or maybe not. Claudette was too damn good at spotting lies.

But he really needed to talk to Dutch alone first. Explain to him that things weren't as bad as the poor man undoubtedly thought they were. The look in Dutch's eyes earlier that day was still haunting Vic and he didn't want the man to do -- or say -- something he would end up regretting later.

--------------------

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	7. Chapter Seven

Disclaimers: Apply 

Author's Note: Written for Katt. You can read this story and many more at theshieldfanfiction.com 

**Chapter Seven,**  
written by Whipper 

Dutch was usually a light sleeper who went from asleep to awake in just a few seconds. (Unfortunately it didn't work quite as well the other way around.) 

Lucy, his ex-wife, had always found that extremely annoying as he had kept waking up in the middle of the night and then had been unable to go back to sleep. The first years of their marriage he'd spent those lonely pre-dawn hours either reading or watching Lucy sleep. Then, as things had become more strained between the two of them, he hadn't dared to annoy her by doing anything other than just laying quietly next to her and stare up at the ceiling.

Eventually he had resorted to sleeping aids, although even with the help of those it was rare that he spent much time in the hazy state between full awareness and sleep.

That was why he found it so strange that he now all of a sudden had to fight his way to consciousness. For some reason it all seemed to be happening so slowly, every stages a process in itself. It almost felt as if part of him didn't want him to wake up. Although he couldn't think of any reason why. 

Unless, of course, he thought dryly, it had something to do with avoiding the pounding in his head, the foul taste in his mouth and the rolling in his stomach.

When he'd finally managed to reach such a level of consciousness that he realized that he was hung-over -- a rare state for Dutch, partly because he'd never felt comfortable loosing control and partly because of the whole affair with Lucy and her alcoholism -- he groaned and reached out slowly to drag the blankets over his head.

_God,_ he thought dimly,_ I hope I didn't do anything too embarrassing._

The world under his blankets was too hot and humid to stay in for long though and after just a few moments he had to gingerly surface for fresh air. The small movement made the pounding into his head grow from a in comparison rather gentle _thump-thump-thump_ to a full-blown _death-would-be-mercy_ headache.

Stumbling out of bed he absentmindedly thanked whatever divinity who had made him turn off all the lights in the apartment before stumbling into bed after his nigh of, what he assumed had been, heavy drinking. He just wished that the same divinity could have found a way to convince him to take off his clothes as well. He was almost certain that his shirt was ruined.

Not about to test his eyes for light sensitivity he opened the door to the bathroom and walked in without as much as looking at the light switch. In the middle of the small room he stopped though, hesitating between brushing his teeth first and enjoy the clean taste of fluoride for a few moments before he inevitably threw up or if he should just head directly for the toilet.

The alarming lurch in his stomach quickly answered his question and he barely had the time to get down on his knees and grab on to the cold porcelain seat before he became violently ill. It was mostly dry heaves and he cursed at his own stupidity. If you were going to drink you should at least have enough common sense to do it on a full stomach.

"Bet you're regretting that last drink right about now, huh?" a very familiar, slightly amused voice drawled from somewhere behind him. 

A voice that for, all it's familiarity, had nothing to do inside Dutch's bathroom.

He turned around much too quickly and the surge of pain inside his head caused his sight to black out for a few seconds. Gasping for air he stared up at Vic Mackey with squinted eyes.

"What...?" Dutch stopped there, swallowing nervously a few times.

Sometimes realization hit you like a fist in the stomach. Not this time though. This time the memories just silently crept up on him.

A random quote flashed through his mind. _This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but a whimper._ The Hollow Men by T.S. Eliot. He'd read it in school, although not for a class but while hiding out in the library for the school bullies.

"No," he whispered. "Please, no."

Mackey didn't say anything, but then he didn't need to either. The sympathetic look on his face said it all.

_They know,_ a voice screamed inside of him. _They know, they know, theyknow, theyknowtheyknow..._

Another part -- a much more dominant one -- acknowledged that silently. And answered:__

Stay calm.

So when Mackey left the bathroom Dutch didn't ask why. When the man returned with a glass of water he accepted it without a word and rinsed his mouth with the first mouthful, gulping the rest down greedily. Even though his stomach protested loudly against the liquid he somehow managed to keep it down and he automatically thanked a God he didn't believe in for small favors.

He stayed there on the floor for several minutes, his long legged tucked up under his chin and his head resting against his arms. That way he didn't have to face Mackey. That way he could remain calm.

"Here."

The soft voice was surprisingly gentle and surprisingly close. He could practically feel Mackey's warm breath against his skin. Shifting away uneasily Dutch looked up at, focusing his eyes on Mackey's mouth rather than his eyes.

"Tylenol," the man explained, rather needlessly, as he held out his hands.

In one there was two little geltabs, in the other the cup of water. He took both hesitantly, carefully avoiding to touch the other man. He didn't want the physical contact and he was sure Mackey didn't want to be touched by someone like him either.

He shuddered as he swallowed the Tylenol.

"Dutch..." Mackey's low voice made him look up again. "We need to talk."

"Okay," Dutch agreed quickly, mostly because he knew there wasn't any point in objecting.

If Vic Mackey wanted to talk, then they'd talk. But first he needed to make something clear.

"We're not friends."

Mackey nodded, a serious look on his face.

"You're right. We're not friends." He smiled crookedly. "We don't even particularly like each other. But we're both cops. And cops protects each other."

Dutch snorted softly in response to that.

"You think I need protecting?" he asked softly.

_Is it that obvious? Am I that weak? Can somebody just look at me and realize what I am?_

He was so lost in his own musings that he almost missed Mackey's answer.

"Yesterday, no. Today... I'm not so sure."

Dutch almost spit out an angry _'I can take care of himself!_' but then he remembered what acting defiant got you. _Stay calm,_ he repeated instead. _Lay low. Don't say anything. Don't give anything away. You've seen Mackey in the interrogation room. You know how he works. His tactics. You can outsmart him._

As the silence stretched between them, Dutch fought down the urge to speak. Even though he wanted to get it all over with he wasn't about to give Mackey the advantage of having spoken first. He stared down at his hands angrily instead, watching them betray him by nervously playing with the hem of his cuffs.

"Do you really want to have this conversation while sitting on the floor of your bathroom?" Mackey asked, finally breaking the heavy silence.

"I don't want to have this conversation at all," Dutch said before he could stop himself. Furiously berating himself mentally he continued; "And I'm fine where I am. Thank you."

"Okay, suit yourself," Mackey replied with a _I-couldn't-care-less_ shrug. "I'll just make myself comfortable then."

And with that he sat down across Dutch, somehow managing to sprawl in a fashion that suggested that he'd never been more comfortable. Dutch pressed himself a bit closer to the wall, happy for the barrier his legs made between him and the other man.

"So... Dutch, want to tell me what this is all about?"

"I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"No?" The smile on Mackey's lips was almost predatory. It was but too obvious that the man was back on familiar ground. "I'm talking about what happened today between you and Danny. I'm talking about you abandoning your partner at a deli to get drunk while still on duty. I'm talking about me and Shane having to drag your sorry ass back to your apartment and watch over you to make sure you didn't drown in your own vomit. That's what I'm talking about."

Dutch could feel his face begin to burn and he cursed mentally. There had been a few gaps in his memory but Mackey had done a brilliant job of filling them in.

"I didn't ask you to do that for me," he said so quietly he could barely hear himself.

Through some minor miracle Mackey heard him though and his face immediately darkened, his eyes beginning to glitter dangerously.

"Your partner came to us and begged us to find you. She was worried sick about you. Danny came along with her, making up some bullshit story so that the boys wouldn't find out what had really happened. They both put their jobs on the line to cover for you, Dutch-boy. So, no... you're right. You didn't ask for my help. But your friends did it for you."

"And now I'm stuck with you."

Mackey grinned widely, all white teeth and blue eyes.

"Now you're stuck with me," he confirmed. 


	8. Chapter Eight

Disclaimers: Apply 

Author's Notes: Written for Katt. Also archived at the theshieldfanfiction.com 

**Past Present,**  
written by Whipper 

**Chapter Eight**

Sitting on a cold bathroom floor next to a depressed fellow Detective who smelled like a horrid combination of a cheap whiskey distillery and the bathroom of a club at two a.m. was not Vic's idea of well-spent evening. Especially not since the fellow Detective in question seemed hell-bent on giving him the silent treatment.

Yet, somehow, he had managed to keep calm. And quiet.

Although, the later wasn't exactly by choice. It was just that there were so many ways to start the conversation he so desperately needed to have with Dutch and they all had one thing in common; they were god-damn _fucking_ awful.

_"Hi, Dutch, why don't you tell me about your relationship with your father? Danny and I suspect that he sexually abused you when you were a kid, could you please confirm that? Okay, I'm sorry to hear that. Could you please tell me how you feel about that? Why? Well, to satisfy my morbid curiosity. And also if you're feeling in any way suicidal I probably shouldn't leave you alone. It would look kinda bad on my record. Plus I think Claudette might end up killing me."_

Or maybe:

_"I know your secret, Dutch-boy. The one you've undoubtedly spent most of your life trying to keep people from figuring out. And now I need you to tell me just how bad you feel about it not being a secret any more. Is it just 'drink yourself into a stupor'-bad or is it more like 'drink myself into a stupor to get the guts to 'clean my gun''-bad?"_

And, of course, the book he'd forced himself to read earlier to the cost of the mother of all headaches hadn't told him anything he didn't already know or as easily could have figured out for himself. Which just went to prove what he'd always known; book-knowledge really wasn't much use at all in his line of work.

Vic found himself wishing, not for the first time that night, that he had just told Claudette the truth and then let her take care of her partner instead. But oh, no... he had just had to be the good guy, telling Claudette that her partner was feeling kind of down and maybe she should let Vic take care of instead? Sometimes these things were so much easier to talk about man to man. 

It had taken everything in him to persuade her and she had still demanded to speak to Dutch. Who, to Vic's annoyance, had been less than convincing with his monosyllabic answers and listless tone of voice.

_Damn it all,_ he cursed before taking a deep breath and plunging himself into what he was sure would be one for the top ten list of the most tense and uncomfortable conversations in his life.

"You have a pretty huge book collection."

Dutch stared at him as if he'd just said that he was actually from the planet Mars or maybe a die-hard Telly-Tubby fan.

"That's quite a non sequitur," he then pointed out in the kind of voice police men usually spared for when dealing with crazy but dangerous -- possibly even armed -- people.

"Yeah, well... I read one of them. Hope you don't mind." As Dutch shook his head -- the pained grimace that immediately followed the movement reminding Vic that he was dealing with a highly hung-over person -- Vic continued: "It was about people who survived being sexually abused as children."

Now, Vic had anticipated some kind of reaction to that, that was true. Anger, denial or anything in between, really. If it was something he'd learned it was that people's reactions to surprises were seldom predictable. Dutch paling to the color of newly washed sheets and throwing up wasn't perhaps all that unexpected. But the strange smile on his lips as he turned around to face Vic again definitely was.

Cursing his own stupidity Vic pushed himself onto his feet and refilled the glass with cold water. As Dutch rinsed his mouth, still smiling that horrible eerie smile, Vic sank down again, forcing his face into donning a casual expression.

"You would have to be a pretty strong person to put that kinda shit behind you," he continued, trying to act as if nothing had happened and, quite likely, failing miserably. "That's certainly something I'd have to admire in a person."

"That's an interesting opinion," Dutch replied calmly, sounding like he thought quite the opposite. "Most people thinks that a strong person shouldn't have let something like that happen to them in a first place."

"Well, in that case most people are wrong and more than welcome to kiss my ass," Vic countered, frowning angrily at the man. 

He just hated it when people put the guilt on the victim instead of the offender._ "If you're in the wrong neighborhood you deserve to get mugged."_ or, his personal favorite, _"If you wear a short skirt you deserve to get raped."_ He'd heard it all before from a number of shitheads. What he'd liked to ask them was if they would be as eager to sign their names after a statement such as: _"kids who loves and trusts their parents unconditionally deserves to get molested"?_

Somehow he didn't _fucking_ well think so.

"I know you don't believe that shit, Dutch," he added. "Everybody knows that you're good with the victims."

Dutch snorted loudly.

"Yeah," he agreed in a voice heavily laced with irony, "I'm famous for my people-skills."

Vic had to smile slightly at that.

"Well, no," he admitted. "But you're still good with them. You work hard for them, everyone knows that. The victims are lucky if they get you working their case because you always give a hundred percent for each case."

But Dutch just shook his head.

"That's our job. We're supposed to give a hundred percent, always. That some of us don't doesn't mean that the ones that do are 'good' cops. Just that we're doing our job." Making eye contact with Vic, Dutch continued, his eyes hard and his mouth a thin red line in the pale face. "You're right though, the victims are lucky if they get me working their case. I am good at what I do. And don't you for a moment think that I need you to tell me that, Mackey."

"Whoa, Dutch-boy!" Vic exclaimed, raising his arms in a _"don't shoot me!"_ gesture before adding in an amused voice: "I'm on your side here, okay?"

"Yeah, so I've noticed. I thought we agreed we weren't friends? Yet all of a sudden you're 'on my side'," Dutch quoted with a sneer, his entire body screaming defiance and contempt. "I can't help but to wonder why. Is it just because you think you know something about me? Because you, all of a sudden, think of me as a victim rather than a fellow cop?" 

The tall man pushed himself onto unsteady legs, crossing his arms over his chest in what Vic guessed was an unsuccessful attempt to hide the tremors that went through the lithe body.

Vic quickly stood up himself, making sure to keep his distance to the agitated Detective. He'd noticed early on that Dutch was the kind of person who needed a lot of personal space under normal situations and he found it easy to imagine that that was something that became even more important when the man was feeling... unsafe.

"I'm not a victim," Dutch continued, mercifully unaware of the fact that his wavering voice and shaking body was making Vic highly doubt his words. "And you don't know anything about me. And we're not friends. Or on the same side. _Okay_?"

"I get you. You don't want me to pry. That's okay. I won't. I wish you'd tell me about what's bothering you though, I really do." Vic tried to let his eyes speak of how sincere he was, tried to let the honest emotions bleed through to his voice but if he succeeded it didn't seem to have any affect on Dutch. He continued still. "And if you do tell me I promise you, Dutch, I will make everything in my power to help you. And... and, just so you know, it's not a one time offer. If you change your mind I'll be there. I will."

The moments that followed his little speech felt much too long, each second dragged out into an eternity and Vic swore he could feel the sweat begin to trickle down his scalp. Dutch just stared at him silently, dark eyes unreadable and face set into a blank mask. For all Vic's experience reading bad guys he couldn't tell what was going on in Dutch's head.

He could just hope that the man had taken his words seriously.

"Are you done?" Dutch finally said, his voice void of any emotions.

And for a moment there Vic wanted nothing but to hurt the other man. Just slam him into the wall and pin him there and then make sure that he fucking payed attention when Vic spoke, the little ungrateful dick!

But, thankfully, the moment passed. The flare of red anger died out almost as suddenly as it had been born. 

"Yeah. I'm done," he gritted out, exhaling explosively. 

"Good. Then maybe you could leave my apartment?"

"Just two more things," Vic added after a few second, giving the other man his best _'I'm serious and won't take any crap!'_ look. "You do anything... stupid after I leave and I'm gonna kick your ass. And don't you ever go drinking alone again, Dutch. Especially not while you're on the job. I won't cover for you ever again."

"I don't expect you to," came the toneless reply.

"Good."

And with that Vic left. 


End file.
